In her embrace
by Starswirling
Summary: Sherlock has a nightmare and races to check on Molly. One-shot.


_Sherlock was in a long dark hallway. She was somewhere in one of these rooms and he HAD to find her. Fear ran through his veins. He wished he had a gun, or some type of weapon, but he had nothing. He couldn't let that slow him down though. Time was running out. Where was she?_

_He opened door after door. Each empty room only increased his frantic need to locate her._

_Faster and faster he opened the doors._

_Empty._

_Empty._

_Empty._

_Sherlock couldn't stop. He was growing more desperate. He had to find her. He must._

_He opened another door. This room was brightly lit, and in the middle, tied to a chair was a beaten and shaking Molly. Her eyes were filled with fear as a deranged Moriarty stood behind her with a long knife to her throat._

_"__Ah, Sherlock, there you are!" trilled the madman. "We had almost given you up for lost! Well no worries, I had some fun with Molly here while we were waiting." Tears started to roll down Molly's cheeks as Moriarty dug the point of the knife, causing her to bleed._

_"__No, please, don't," Sherlock pleaded, unable to keep from reaching for his pathologist. _

_"__You'll never be able to save her," Moriarty said almost lazily as he pressed the knife even deeper, making Molly cry out as a fast trickle of blood streamed down her throat. _

_"__I told you I was going to burn the heart out of you, but no one LISTENS anymore!" Moriarty screamed as he brought his hand up to deliver the fatal blow. _

_Sherlock threw himself across the room, but he already knew he was going to be too late. Helplessly he watched as the knife moved in slow motion down towards Molly's neck, her sobbing echoing in his ears._

_Down, down the knife lowered until-_

Gasping for air, Sherlock sat straight up in his bed. It took him a heart-stopping moment to reorient himself. Trembling, Sherlock lowered his head to his hands. Another nightmare. That was the third one this week, and christ this one had been bad.

Ever since he and John has taken down Moriarty's apprentice four months ago, thankfully before he had killed anyone though he had blown up some buildings, Sherlock had been plagued by nightmares. And they all centered around one theme – Molly being hurt.

Sherlock got up to do what he always did to recover from the horrific images his brain insisted on showing him -have a brandy and lose himself in a good book. He donned his blue robe and his ratty slippers and was halfway across his flat to do just that when he suddenly decided he wasn't interested in making the "smart" choice tonight and without a second thought he was out the door and down on the street hailing a cab.

He need to make sure she was okay. He knew he could call her, or text her and even at this early hour, Molly would respond. But at this moment, that wasn't enough. He needed to see with his own eyes that she was unharmed. He need to feel her skin under his fingertips to reassure himself that she was whole and healthy.

If John had been with him, his friend would have rolled his eyes to see that even at 2:30 in the morning and still dressed in his pajamas, robe and slippers Sherlock was capable of securing a cab in under a minute.

When the cab finally deposited him in front of Molly's building, Sherlock didn't even bother with the buzzer. He simply picked the lock on the outer door and then used the copy he had made of Molly's key to let himself into her flat.

Sherlock stood stock still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust as the only light was a faint glow from the telly. As Sherlock moved towards it, he noticed a blanket covered lump on the couch that was suspiciously Molly sized.

Based on the take away containers on the coffee table, it seems his pathologist enjoyed a pleasant night in before pulling the blanket over her head and falling asleep while she was steaming something from Netflix. Dr. Who probably.

Gently he peeled back the patchwork quilt until all of her was revealed to him. She was wearing a tank top and simple cotton shorts, her hair was sleep tousled and she looked utterly adorable.

For a full five minutes Sherlock did nothing but stare at her. When was the last time he just _looked_ at her, appreciated her without deducing her to get what he wanted? It made Sherlock feel vaguely ill that the answer was _too damn long_, but right now he was just so glad she was safe that he wanted to burn her image into his brain. She appeared even younger and more fragile when she was asleep than she did when she was under the fluorescent lights at St. Bart's. Sherlock sighed. What was he going to do with her?

Just then Molly shivered and tried to curl herself into a ball. In his second impulsive act for the night, Sherlock scooped her up and began carrying her to her bedroom.

When he cradled her to his chest, Molly gave a small start and groggily opened one eye. "S'lock?" She asked blearily.

"Yes it's me Molly, no need to be alarmed," Sherlock replied soft as he continued towards his goal of her bed.

"You're….you're not taking me to Bart's for a case are you?" Her worry was evident even in her sleepy tone.

Sherlock chuckled softly as he laid her on the bed. "No Molly, I'm not. Go back to sleep."

Instead Molly opened both her eyes and turned to look at him. Sherlock gulped as he stood awkwardly at the side of her bed, unable to make himself move back.

"Why are you here?" She asked, still keeping him locked in the tractor beam of her gaze.

"I...I had a bad dream," he said shakily. He didn't mean to confess it. He had every intention of lying, but he was so tired and holding her closely a moment ago was causing his stomach to flip.

"You had a bad dream, so you came all the way over here, in the middle of the night, in your pajamas?" Molly asked evenly.

Sherlock nodded mutely.

"You poor boy," Molly said as she opened her arms, inviting him into the bed with her.

Without hesitating Sherlock slid into her embrace.

He knew he should feel like a fool. His face was snuggled against her neck. Her arms were holding him to her as his lanky body wrapped around her petite form.

However all he felt was calm and protected. Like he had finally found a safe harbor where he could rest and be secure.

Molly adjusted the blanket around them, snuggled even closer to him and promptly fell back asleep. Sherlock knew he wasn't far behind her. He counted the reassuring kicks of her pulse against his forehead like a child might count sheep.

His last thought before he drifted off was that this was a hell of lot better than a tumbler full of brandy.

oooOOOooo

The late morning sun was streaming through Molly's white curtains when Sherlock was awakened by a small gasp and the feeling of her stiffening in his embrace. With some panic Sherlock's eyes shot open and saw that Molly was staring at him, her own eyes as big as saucers.

"What? What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, getting ready to roll out of the bed to face whatever danger was in the flat.

"I thought I dreamt it," Molly whispered, sounding a little sheepish. "You coming here in the middle of the night….I thought it was part of my dream."

"So you've been having nightmares as well?" Sherlock said with a tiny smirk, trying to tease her.

Instead of smiling politely or laughing, Molly continued to stare at him. Slowly, slowly she reached out her hand out to cup his jaw.

"Oh, Sherlock, have you been having these nightmares for long?" Molly asked, her caring tone and thumb stroking just below his cheekbone made Sherlock want to grab her and burrow under the covers and refuse to come out for a solid month.

He dropped his gaze, preparing to come up some lie that would not expose his weakness, but when he looked up, the love that was evident in Molly's face made him blurt out the truth. "Yes, I've been having them ever since John and I brought down the imposter…and you are always hurt in them Molly. He came so close to getting you! I worry about you all the time, and now even my sleep is disrupted."

Molly continued to stare at him. A minute later she finally spoke.

"Tell me honestly Sherlock," she said seriously. "Would it be best for you if I moved away? If I left Bart's and London?"

Sherlock was literally speechless. Under his shock, he knew she would do that for him. Leave the only place she called home. Her successful career. Her friends. Lie and tell herself that no one would miss her and she wasn't valuable so of course it was of no consequence if she left.

The calculating part of his brain, the part that allowed him to ignore bombs strapped to children to solve cases and dealt solely with cool logic, actually thought about it.

At the same time, the part of Sherlock that made him human, the part that caused him to come here in the first place, caused him to clutch Molly even closer to him. Like she was in danger of being ripped out of his arms.

He realized that it didn't matter if Molly was in London, or in the darkest jungles of Asia. He'd still worry about her and it wouldn't be long before he ended up chasing her down. He needed and wanted her with him. He had done absolutely nothing in his life to deserve the kind of love and loyalty Molly Hooper gave him. Nothing at all. But just the same, Sherlock told himself, he was keeping her.

"Actually," Sherlock said. "I think opposite actions are called for. I was going to ask you if...if we could see more of each other. And definitely sleep in the same bed together more often."

"A-are you asking me to be in a…proper relationship with you?" Molly asked, wide eyed again.

"I believe I am," said Sherlock.

"Okay," said Molly with a grin. Sherlock couldn't stop himself from grinning back. He snuggled her even closer.

"I know we probably have a lot to talk about, but for now, would it be acceptable if we just went back to sleep for a few more hours?" Sherlock whispered in her ear.

"Sounds lovely," Molly whispered back and wrapped her arm around his waist.

Less than ten minutes both were asleep again.

_Once again, Sherlock was in a long dark hallway. Door after door lined the walls, and he HAD to find her. _

_He opened the first door to find John and a very pregnant Mary playing with a toddler girl in a cheery room. Seeing his friend so happy made Sherlock smile and he closed the door softly and moved on to the next._

_This one contained Mrs. Hudson baking as she sang along with the radio._

_The next had Mycroft eating cake in the kitchen of their childhood home._

_He opened another door. This room was sunny, and in the middle sat Molly at a workbench. She looked up and smiled._

_"__There you are Sherlock!" she said, holding her hand out to invite him in. "I got the experiment all set up! Are you ready to start?"_

_Walking into the room to take his place next to Molly, Sherlock leaned in and gave her a kiss before taking the safety googles she laid out for him._

_"__Only if you promise to always be my lab partner," he said._

_"__I'd like to see you try and stop me," Molly cheekily replied._

_Sherlock knew he was grinning like a maniac but he didn't care. He was filled with a lightness he had never experienced and deep down he knew he had finally gotten it right._

The end!

Author's note: I'm a sherlolly fan all the way. So even if my story doesn't say "they got married, had kids and lived happily ever after" just know that in my head that's what happened.

I, of course, own nothing.

Thanks!


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